


I Watched Over You From Afar

by MouseOnTheKeys



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Past Drug Use, Tragedy, backstory?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MouseOnTheKeys/pseuds/MouseOnTheKeys
Summary: Not much is known from Mama Murphy's past, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. The prodigal grandson returns to the Commonwealth, but is it too late to confront his former drug addicted caretaker? He crashes at the Abernathy farm full of regrets, only to find the kindness of strangers soothing his lonely wandering soul. (An exploration of some early side characters in FO4)





	1. Chapter 1

At the top of a rocky hill Sawyer was struck again by the desire to look behind him, born of the neurosis plaguing him for weeks that whispered how it wasn't too late to turn back the way he came. The red sun sunk on the dusty trail of the life he left behind, winding though the lifeless craggy hills like a snake shedding it's skin. He paused against a grove of naked black trees, savoring the last puff of his cigarette before throwing it down and stamping it out with the toe of his foot, then turned towards the painfully familiar Commonwealth he'd left behind so many years ago.

At that point he wasn't so much walking as he was staggering along the paths that thread like thick gray veins across the Commonwealth. Shifting the sweaty pack on his back once more and adjusting the hat he'd stolen off a scarecrow forward on his head, he longed for the motorcycle he'd been forced to abandon somewhere on the outskirts of the Capital Wasteland. The green prewar relic had finally bit the dust for good, taking a few gunshots to the rusted gas tank and the back tire blowing out before sending them fishtailing off the broken asphalt one last time. By the time he narrowly escaped death and clamored over the nearest cover the damn thing exploded as the gang of raiders tailing him closed in to investigate the wreckage, leaving nothing but a mangled metal skeleton at the base of a black cone of smoke. He'd poured out a sentimental shot of whiskey into the dust for it later that night.

The days kind of blurred together after that, on foot for the final stretch before arriving in the Commonwealth. He plunged headlong towards the first real landmark he'd seen in days.

It was a ramshackle farmhouse slapped together around the base of a dead power pylon, looking out on a stretch of tilled earth striped with tato plants. He glimpsed a water pump that bounced up and down on a loose hinge, squeaking loudly in the light breeze as it squirted tiny jets of water rhythmically. The property was surrounded by a weather-flogged wired fence that sagged between it's posts. The glow of a cat's green eyes watched him, perched on a rusty workbench. Someone, possibly a bunch of someones, was calling this place home.

Trepidation bubbled in his hungry stomach. Meeting new people in the wasteland was a gamble. Sometimes people just suck, or have twitchy trigger fingers, or both. The long days he'd spent alone on the road and the handful of nerve wracking moments staring down the wrong end of a gun had worn on his psyche, so despite his thirst for the stimulation of a simple hello, he hesitated. With his luck he could be walking into a psycho cult family of cannibals who'd happily skin him for a nice throw blanket or meat pillow. At his best he could fend for himself well enough against reasonable odds, and the old beat up hunting rifle slung over his shoulder was enough of a visual deterrent for the casual thug. But he wasn't up for much after a few thousand miles on the road, tired, hungry, grumpy, and up against cannibal interior decorators. He loomed unsteadily at the edge of the fence, unsure of what to do.

Just as he began to sigh while the cogs in his head turned, the crisp crack of a rifle cut through the humid evening and a dime sized hole pierced the wide brim of his hat, sending it spinning off his crown into the dirt. He ducked out of reflex despite there being no cover nearby whatsoever, and threw his hands up in surrender while searching for the shooter within the darkened farm.

"That's close enough, stranger." A woman's voice murmured out from the darkness, clear enough as though she'd materialized out of the ether and now stood directly behind him. "We're a peaceful farm. We don't want any trouble."

Sawyer cleared his throat in an attempt to gather himself. "Well that's good, since I'm fresh out of trouble. I'm just looking for a place to sleep where I won't get gnawed at by wolves. I don't have much in the way of caps, but I can work."

"You can talk to my father about that. But fair warning, we're armed here. Don't get any cute ideas."

"Armed and peaceful, huh?" Sawyer cocked his chin slightly in a sly attempt to catch a glimpse of the speaker behind him. In the fading light all he could see was the outline of a person as tall and bulky as he was, and not much else.

A rude nudge on the back of his head prodded him forward. They walked towards the farmhouse, until Sawyer could see an ember glowing bright orange next to the battered workbench stationed by the door frame. Sawyer squinted, barely making out the shadow of a man, scrutinizing him from within the cloak of darkness. The woman behind him spoke first. "This guy needs a bunk for the night."

A soft chuckle drifted from the darkness as plume of smoke rose into the air, before responding firmly. "No."

Well, shit. Sawyer cleared his throat again, squashing down his rising frustration. "Look, I've been on the road for months now. I came all the way from the west coast to get here. All I'm asking for is a safe place to rest for a little bit."

"I got a family to protect and no reason to trust you. Move. Along."

"I'm skilled, I can work. And I know how to fix your water pump," That part wasn't completely true, but he had a hunch that could pass as a partial truth, which was a good enough base to build a lie off of. "And you know, to be honest, I don't have a much of a reason to trust you either. I'm at the end of my rope, I just-"

The woman behind him interjected. "We don't care. You should go."

Sawyer grit his teeth and huffed. "Listen, I don't want to be here in the ass end of nowhere either, but I've also got family, over down in Quincy. My Gran is all I have left and I need to find her. Here." Sawyer let his rifle slip down his shoulder and offered it out, but just out of arm's reach. "Take it, as collateral while I'm taking up your space. I'll be on my way before you can get tired of looking at me."

"Quincy?" The voice from within the farmhouse sounded surprised. "You have family in Quincy?"

"Yes!" Sawyer's knees nearly buckled in relief at whatever conversational traction he was making.

"Oh, son," The man's voice grew heavy with something Sawyer didn't like, something that sounded suspiciously like pity. It made his insides churn anxiously. The farmer stepped forward into the light of the dying sunset, revealing a honey eyed man with a face wrinkled from laughter and worry. "I'm sorry you have to hear it from a stranger like me, but Quincy's been overrun by Gunners. The Minutemen are wiped out. They're all gone."

Sawyer felt as though he'd been plunged in ice water, his heart constricting painfully as he swallowed the bile that suddenly rose in his throat.  _No_. He clenched his teeth. Not like this, not when there was too much left unsaid. He remembered the ferocious look in her bloodshot eyes the night he walked out, absently throwing a table aside like it was made of feathers. He'd traveled too far and for too long for her to just wink out like the frail old woman she appeared to be. So close...

The farmer watched the turmoil on Sawyer's face, gesturing to a place behind the farm, past a blurry melon patch to a dingy gray blob. Startled, Sawyer quickly swiped away the build up of tears he hadn't noticed form. "Take the camper." The farmer said, "We'll talk about work in the morning."

Before Sawyer could even come up with a proper thank you, he felt the hard bite of rifle barrel press against the back of his head. He hiked up his surrendered hands up higher into the air before the woman growled, " _Dad_ , are you sure?"

"Put down the gun, Mary." Loaded seconds ticked by with no reaction, and for a moment Sawyer thought he should have just kept walking past the damn farmhouse into the darkness, facing the weird creatures that hung out and prowled between the lights of civilization. The farmer's eyes narrowed, and suddenly Sawyer felt uncomfortably inspired to fix his posture and behave, though luckily the look wasn't directed at him. "You heard me, young lady. I won't say it again."

She grumbled quietly but did as she was ordered. Before Sawyer could even roll his stiff shoulders, she snatched his gun from his weakened grip. "For collateral." She growled, moving to stand next to the farmer. A deep hood hid her face, but the line of her shoulders was rigid and he could feel the scowl burning a hole in his skull. He held back the ire rushing through his veins, balling his hands into fists, but said nothing. He couldn't risk losing the scant ground he'd been given over a few choice vulgar words.

The farmer scrutinized Sawyer up and down. "Let me tell ya, farming ain't easy. Out in the field, all day, everyday? And every minute of it spent watching your back."

It took effort to summon the right response, and when he said them there wasn't much feeling in them."I know what that's like, though I'm more of a black thumb than a green one, if you catch my drift. Put a wrench in my hand and I can make your generators purr like kittens."

"Nothing goes to waste here." The farmer inhaled from his cigarette, the bright orange ember reflecting briefly in his eyes before flicking it away, extending his hand out. "Blake Abernathy."

"Sawyer Murphy." He replied as he accepted the handshake. The farmer's hand was rough and rock steady.

The older man gave him a short nod of satisfaction."Well met, Sawyer. You say you're no stranger to the Commonwealth?"

"Uh, I was born here, but I took to the road a decade ago." He swallowed hard. "Were there … is there any word of survivors?"

"None that I've heard, but news takes a long time to reach us all the way up here. The caravans might swing by with news, but other than that you'd have to check in at Diamond City. The way is dangerous though." Blake retrieved the rifle from his daughter. It looked like it'd been lobbed off a cliff and the pieces hastily duct taped back together by a drunken mole rat. Sawyer bit his lip in sullen embarrassment as the farmer inspected it. Blake raised a skeptical eyebrow up at him, one that Sawyer one hundred percent deserved. The younger man shrugged and attempted to smile sheepishly.

"I don't aim to rob you, you got my word. You'll get this back once you've decided to move on." Blake turned back towards the farmhouse. "Get some rest, we'll talk again in the morning."

Sawyer gave a curt nod and quickly peeled away from them, taking a deep breath and counting slowly to ten. He sat down on the rusty foot stool stamped in front of the entrance of the camper trailer, the warped door sagging uselessly to the side on a broken hinge. He yanked off a boot, dumping out a stream of dirt and bits of debris. Three months and a few thousand miles … for what? He couldn't help but let the hot ugly mess of emotions in his chest broil and steam out his nostrils in quick succession. Whatever closure he'd hoped to find was stolen away. The echoes of all the things he'd never get to say bounced around in his skull. Even if through some miracle Gran was alive, where would he begin to look for her? He bit his tongue, bitterly throwing his boots at his backpack in resignation, refusing to delve further into self-indulgent nihilism. One problem at a time...

Inside the camper was an old mattress pushed into one corner that Sawyer laid his sleeping bag over. Using his arm as a pillow, he finally lay down and let his muscles relax some of the tension he'd been carrying while his brain whirled. He watched the inky sea of stars drift through the sky through the window slats until he was nearly dozing off when he heard a soft voice. "Hey."

Mary stood just outside the threshold of where the camper's door used to fit. How the hell was she able to sneak up on him so easily? He propped himself up on his elbows, glaring stonily. She set down a canteen of water and a bundle of cloth down on the floor beside his mattress. Almost as an afterthought, she placed his forgotten hat next to them. "Sorry. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Then she was gone, leaving Sawyer blinking at the space she'd so briefly occupied. Upon inspection, the bundle contained come canned food and scraps of jerky. He sighed, flopping back down with a frown. He hadn't asked for food and hadn't expected any out of charity. She'd even gone back out in the dark to return the ridiculous wide brimmed hat that had sheltered his eyes from the harsh sun. They were just scared, and he knew there was nothing wrong with trying to protect one's self in a world full of gray areas. A surge of guilt replaced the space in his chest where the misplaced anger had evaporated. He didn't deserve this kindness.

He closed his eyes, wishing for sleep to claim his consciousness. If nothing else, he would do all the good that he could manage while he was there, and hope that was enough to break his streak of bad luck.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sawyer ran up the stairs two at a time, an excited grin on his young face at the prospect of the ice cold Nuka Colas stashed in the back of the fridge. He hoped his new friend wouldn't get bored waiting in the playground without him, but Sawyer figured the promise of a sugary drink was enough to hold him still. By the time he reached the top floor apartments, he was breathless, hands on his knees and panting heavily. He could hear Gran chuckling at something on the other side as he drew near. Strange, since she didn't get too many visitors anymore. Curious, he slowly opened the door, careful to lift the door on its hinges to prevent a salvo of loud cracks from shooting up the door frame and giving his presence away._

_She sat in her favorite rocking chair, gently bouncing with one slippered foot on the edge of the coffee table. An empty pill bottle speckled with flowers lay forgotten on the rug. She was talking softly into an empty corner by the open window. Sawyer felt the hairs on his skin stand up on end, but he didn't know why. "… and that was the last time anyone saw Doc Hollowpoint and his gang of terminally sick raiders, never to darken a doorway again. The kid used to love that one, made me tell it every night before bed."_

_He hovered behind the door, watching her silently gaze at the wall until she suddenly laughed in a way that Sawyer had never heard before. It could have belonged to another version of his Gran from twenty years ago, someone who existed before the boozy digressive grandmother he knew her as. "No, no. It was great fun for a while, but after all my travels and the way things went with Aisling, I figured I settle down into a domesticated life, you know? Maybe give that a swing." She chuckled again, but her thick accent sounded tinged with sadness. "'Sides, I can't feed the damn kid if I'm always spaced-out. Can't even crack an egg if there's any jet lying around. And he's growin' so fast. Not gonna lie, sometimes I miss the old marauder days. Not always, but I think about what I miss out on. Like you."_

_Something broke the moment, like a balloon popping, that made her look over her shoulder directly at him. He flinched, almost belatedly ducking behind the door in guilt. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused like she was peering through dense fog._

_"Granny?" At the sound of his voice, she turned her chin to the side as though straining to hear some faraway tune. Her eyelids fluttered, and recognition returned to sharpen her features._

_"Oh, hey kiddo."_

_Sawyer released the tension he didn't know he'd been holding. Whatever had made his skin crawl had started to fade away. "Gran, who're you talkin' to?"_

_She smiled, the lingering traces of the drugs giving her an indulgent secretive look that was decades out of time on her wrinkled face. "Oh, just a stranger I met a long time ago."_

0-0-0-0-0

Sawyer jolted awake when he heard deliberate, hard steps on the cracked dry dirt approach him. His scarecrow hat that blocked the sunlight from his eyes while he slept tumbled away, leaving him blinking blearily at his surroundings. A tawny-haired woman with a stern face somewhere in her middle years stopped in front of the camper, dropping a bucket that sloshed with water with a ragged towel hanging on the rim. Without pretense, she told him he had 10 minutes to wash up before breakfast, then turned back towards the farmhouse.

He quickly got up, eager to shake off the cobwebs of stagnant old memories. Now that he'd arrived in the Commonwealth, the dreams that had provoked him to take to the road only made his chest ache and stomach feel tight. He washed the dust and sweat off as best he could, already feeling a little more like a human being as he jogged to the farmhouse. The sun was just starting to color the horizon a warm yellow, and nearby a brahmin's bell clanged. The smell of searing radstag filled his nostrils before he even reached the fence, making his eyelids sag.

Rounding the building, he could make out quick movements from behind the many gaps in the walls. Mrs. Abernathy (or at least that's who he assumed the tawny-haired woman was) was armed at the stove with a pronged fork in front of a sizzling frying pan and wagging a finger at someone. He could make out two more figures around a long table. His self-doubt returned at the idea of barging in on what looked like their morning routine, sharing breakfast together as a family. That old nagging feeling to run away and turn back was quickly drowned out by the hungry rumbling in his stomach, so he marched on forward.

A girl sat at the table with her legs crossed and hunched over in her chair, angled towards the light streaming through the doorway while she tightly stitched leather pieces together into what appeared to be the beginnings of a bracer. She paused her work to look up through brown spiky bangs that hung slightly in her eyes, flashing a dazzling smile at him. He scrutinized her, wondering if she was the same woman that had pressed a gun to his head.

Blake was in position at the head of the table, already covered head to toe in a layer of dust, flipping through a ledger next to a plate stained with reddish juices. Sawyer's shadow engulfed the table, making the farmer beckon to Sawyer amicably. "'Morning. Take a seat, you're just in time."

"Uh, thank you. Smells great." Sawyer said awkwardly. He sat at the empty opposite end of the table from Blake, with the cheerful girl to his left. He cast a surreptitious glance at her, sun-kissed and dressed lightly in a worn flannel that fit too loosely. Unless he was mistaken, Mary looked much younger, cheerful and suspiciously non-threatening in the light of day.

"This is my daughter Lucy," Blake answered for him, as though reading his mind. "our youngest. You've met my wife, Connie?"

"Uh, yeah. I appreciate the chance to clean up. And the food."

Connie didn't exactly smile back but gave him an approving nod. "You're very welcome. No sense in startin' you off filthy and starvin' if you're here to work."

"Yes, ma'am, I am ... though if you don't mind me asking about any caravans coming up from the south-" He trailed off when a steaming plate of glistening radstag and seared sliced tatos swam in front of his face. Hunger roared past his tenuous grasp of table manners and ripped control of his body. He snatched the steak with bare hands and began tearing off chunks with his teeth, humming in almost delirious happiness. The gamey taste and tender texture nearly brought tears to his eyes while he chewed. Was that some kind of herb? His eyes fluttered shut in immense gratitude.

He was halfway done when he realized the family was pretending not to stare at him with varying levels of interest. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and tried not to breathe so heavily through his nose, dropping his steak back onto his plate with a thud. "Sorry ... it's been a minute. It's really good."

"I can tell," Lucy grinned as a gray cat pounced on her lap to snuggle under her chin, intrigued by the smell of food. "This is Maise, by the way. She's part of the family, just like Clarabelle."

"Clarabelle?"

Lucy beamed at him. "Clarabelle is our brahmin."

"You ought to extend your thanks to Mary," Blake mentioned, already flipping through his ledger again. "She got lucky in the dead of night. There was this yearling buck wandering too close to the farm. Shot it through both heads before it could find it's way through the fence and eat up the crops. She's been up all night processing it. Oh, and speak of the devil."

A flash of long, sunlit copper hair from the doorway stole his attention and there was suddenly a metallic taste on Sawyer's tongue. She was tall, lightly clothed and bereft of last night's bulky armor. Mary sauntered inside as if her family wasn't there, drenched in dark blood and viscera from the chest and elbows down, dropping a gristle covered bone saw into a large wide-brimmed wash basin.

Mrs. Abernathy threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, for crying out loud! Not in the house!"

Lucy's mood suddenly turned sour, muttering, "Isn't it past your bedtime already, Bloody Mary?"

Mary arched an eyebrow, smirking as she reached over and pinched her younger sister's cheek with gore covered fingers in response. Lucy squawked in disgust, rubbing her face on her shoulder. Blake snorted despite his wife's and daughter's protests.

Mary's hawkish hazel gaze landed on Sawyer's lingering one, which had, unfortunately, slipped down to the way the blood had slicked her shirt against her body. Before he could so much as blush in embarrassment, she winked in his direction before walking out with the washbasin in both hands. He snapped from his reverie, realizing he'd forgotten to breathe and attempted to recover by clearing his throat, suddenly invested in pushing a tato around in small circles on his plate. "So ... you folks get by on hunting and farming?"

"For the most part," Blake said as Mrs. Abernathy set Lucy's plate in front of her daughter, pushing Masie aside as soon as the cat set devious paws on the table. "We do a little trade with the caravans, but the real business comes in from Diamond City."

"Huh," Sawyer chewed thoughtfully. "That's uh, right past Cambridge from here, right? Long way to trek."

"Sure is, and too dangerous to go alone. That's why I wait for the caravans to roll around. Mary stays home to guard the home front while I do business in Diamond City."

"You go by yourself?" Sawyer asked. "I mean, I get that you roll with the merchants, but that's a lot of burdens to carry."

"I can shoot," Lucy interjected, and the way Blake sighed suggested it was something of a long-standing argument. "I want to see the city for myself."

"I know you do, sweetie. But I need you to look after the melon patch until it's time to harvest. Diamond City ain't going anywhere." Blake turned back to Sawyer. "To answer what I think you're going to ask, we ought to be expecting a caravan any day now. You'll hear any news of Quincy soon."

"Thank you for keeping that in mind, sir," Sawyer responded, which put a small smile on the other man's face.

Lucy leaned forward towards him. "So is that where you're from? Quincy?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of. I left home some ten-ish years ago? Been all over the place since then," Sawyer stabbed a round of red tato and twirled it on his fork. "I came here straight from Seattle, hitting the road about three months ago, I think. I worked with a few colonies there, mostly Pioneer Square and the Sound, but they eventually dissolved and people just … scattered. I didn't want to leave, but there was nothing there for me anymore."

"Oh, I see," She said sympathetically. "What's it like over there?"

Sawyer pondered. "Cold. Really, really cold. But I liked it that way, and it was all right while the colonies were working together and the brahmin were fattened up right for travel. All the ice makes the old city ruins look like one of those snow globes after you shake it. It was actually so pretty out there."

"Why'd you leave then?"

_Because the dreams wouldn't stop…_

Mrs. Abernathy interrupted. "Don't pester the man, Lucy. You don't want to scare him away, now eh?"

"It's a long story," Sawyer added, grateful for the excuse to end the line of questioning. Lucy looked a little crestfallen but didn't push.

"Well if you're finished there, I'll take you to our first job today. " Blake announced, pushing away from the table. "You ready to look at the water pump?"

Sawyer nodded, quickly stuffing the rest of his tatos into his mouth and handing his plate off to Mrs. Abernathy's expecting hands, thanking her profusely before dashing out.

Blake and Sawyer spent the rest of the afternoon chatting while dismantling the pump, which meant digging up around the earth until Sawyer could see the concrete block that he'd be working with. They talked a bit about Sawyer's life on the road, in which he elaborated on its wretched loneliness.

"Every day becomes a routine. Wake up, pack up camp, and move on. Feral and raiders sometimes spiced things up, but most days felt like an awful dream I couldn't wake up from. When you're mostly driving for 16 hours straight on a highway with a couple pit stops to piss on a rock, your brain starts to hallucinate. Things that looked like a distant city or people walking far off in the distance were actually bent trees or broken glass. Sometimes I went to sleep afraid that the road and the emptiness would never end." Sawyer froze once he realized what he'd said and how it might come across. Blake had been nodding his head in the right places and offering commentary so far, but he'd become pensive as Sawyer had loosened up. Worried that he'd said too much, he quickly added, "What I mean to say is that the wasteland has a way of blurring all the days together."

Blake grunted in understanding, leaning on his shovel. "Coming back to a place you'd never think you'd return to has a way of testing your purpose and character."

Slightly dumbfounded, Sawyer frowned up at the farmer, who was gazing out at the crooked edges of the western horizon. "And once you arrive, everything looks so much smaller than it used to be."

Sawyer bobbed his head, not knowing what to say to that. He hadn't really expected Blake to really listen to his sad rambling account of life on the road. He was just a temporary extra hand available, and Blake's reassurance had brought up a tightness in his throat Sawyer wasn't prepared for.

Thankfully the moment passed as Clarabelle honked and mooed for attention, prompting Blake to leave him to his devices as he went about throwing feed into the trough for the beast.

Sawyer felt like he worked best alone, allowing a task to arrest and hold his focus for hours. He'd always enjoyed puzzles as a kid, and he vaguely remembered his Gran telling him he had a mind for finding the root of a problem that needed the most attention, or at least something along those lines. Blake eventually approached him near sundown, sweat on his brow after digging new rows for crops on the southern side of the farmhouse. "How's it lookin'?"

"Like a girl in a sundress," Sawyer replied absently, pointing to the twelve-foot fiberglass tube he'd pulled from the concrete base, laid out on the dry grass like a rigid noodle. "I replaced the hinge, so the wind will have to work harder to get anything out. The foot valve is fine, I washed the sediment out, no real issues there. It's the gaskets. They're old as sin and crumbling apart, so no matter how many times you pump that lever you'll never suction enough water from the ground. You outta be replacing those every year or so. I've seen enough scrap leather lying around your farm, if I may use it?"

"Go right ahead, son." Blake clapped a strong hand on his shoulder with a pleased grin. "If you can find what you need then help yourself. If Mary's awake yet she can even cut out what you need."

Sawyer blinked slowly as his brain connected the dots. "Oh, so she's the night watch when you folks go to bed?

"Our first line of defense," Blake boasted, the picture of a proud father as he puffed out his chest a little bit, probably without even realizing it. "She's never failed us so far."

"From what you say and from what I've seen, I believe it."

Blake chuckled and disappeared into the farmhouse.

After a little wandering Sawyer found Mary strapping on her armor by the side of the house next to a tanning station, one leg braced on the edge of a tall, murky water basin while her hands worked with familiar ease. She faced away from him, her tanned arms were bare and her long reddish hair was bunched up loosely at the top of her head. He almost stopped dead in his tracks, just … struck. A long silver necklace hung next to her knee, her long deft fingers buckling the little belts on her thighs. Stop being so damn weird… He tripped on a bootlace that had treacherously become undone, attempting to casually clear his throat to cover it up.

She turned at the sound of his voice, tucking a dangling strand of hair behind her ear and instantly finding his eyes. He found himself at a loss for words and confused about where his hands should be, awkwardly cramming them at his hips as he stiffly forced himself to look normal. "Thanks for going and getting my hat for me last night." He blurted out. "And for the water. And for hunting the breakfast for this morning, Blake - er, your dad - told me that was thanks to you. And also for not shooting me on sight … I probably should have led with that."

_What the hell was wrong with him?_ Mary had raised her eyebrows, the smallest quirk to the corner of her lips.

"Anyway," He continued loudly before she could respond, scratching his head as he looked around at the racks of drying skins for a convenient hole to jump into. "I'm going to need help making a leather gasket to draw any water from the pump. I was told you could help me out."

She stared at him curiously, and for a horrified second he wondered if he'd said some weird innuendo, or maybe he had an earthworm stuck in his hair, or maybe he sounded idiotic by-

"I can make whatever you need, if you have the measurements for it." She said, her features stoic like her low clear voice, but there was a teeny tiny hint of a smirk right there, in the dimple on her right cheek.

He was a rock. He was an _island_. "Yeah, I can show you what it'll look like."

Without breaking eye contact, she stepped forward until he almost stepped back just to breathe. She handed him a flat pencil from one of her pockets, her chin cocked to one side with a small smile on her lips. "Ready when you are."

Bemused, Sawyer plucked the pencil from her fingers while his pulse was threatening to drown out his eardrums. A mental flash of her blood-slicked clothes clinging to her body made him almost shudder. He scoffed. He was learning new things about himself already. "Lead the way."

Mary finally grinned, mischievously and so alluringly. Sawyer frowned and looked away suddenly as he cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the back of his head in distraction. Hitting on the farmer's daughter sounded like a surefire way to absorb a few rounds of angry-dad-buckshot. Misconstrued intentions could get a person killed. He couldn't afford to get kicked out, or potentially die without knowing what actually happened to his Gran. A wave of guilt washed out his flirtatious thoughts, which, in all honesty, would have made Gran cackle.

Her lips were moving, and it took him a second for her words to register. "What?"

"Move!" She shouted, tackling him against the wall as pockets in the wooden fence they'd been standing next to exploded into splinters.

The wind was knocked from Sawyer's lungs and his head thunked against the farmhouse, making him cough as he gripped her shoulders. "Whoa! What the hell?"

Coarse shouting mixed with the unmistakable cracks of gunfire made his heart sink. Mary crinkled her nose in disgust, the barely disguised fear in her wide angry eyes alarming him.

"Raiders."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sawyer really wanted to appreciate the fact that a beautiful girl had just thrown herself at him against a wall, but the bullets ripping through the air really ruined the moment.

The bulk of the chaos appeared to close in on the farmhouse in a semi-circle from the far end of the southwestern treeline up towards the camper trailer Sawyer had slept in the night prior. Somewhere on the other side of the house, Lucy shrieked and Blake shouted for his family to get inside. Mary and Sawyer ducked behind the pockmarked wooden fence before they could be seen, searching their immediate surroundings for weapons. Odorous basins full of murky water and woodchips offered nothing, and an ancient mechanic's top box squatting against the wall of the house showed only a few picks and small leatherworking utensils. _Any port in a storm,_ Sawyer thought as he grabbed a weird-looking chisel.

A thrown Molotov exploded a little too close, instantly charring the dry grass in a ring from the outside inwards. The heat licked Sawyer's skin as he cringed away from it. "Who the hell are these assholes?"

Mary scoffed. "I don't know, maybe the neighbors are baking a cake and they ran out of eggs?"

"I'm not a stranger to sarcasm." Sawyer deadpanned.

She sighed. "These assholes are from an old USAF station not too far away. They've been setting up a protection racket with anyone weak and stupid enough to take them seriously. They're all bark with little to no bite, for the most part." She lifted back up to peer over the fence. "Two incoming."

A pair of raiders were swinging around the house, one armed with a spiked bat and the other a shoddy pipe pistol that made Sawyer's old battered hunting rifle look actually halfway decent. They were scouring the area in the fading brimstone light, spitefully kicking through the young melon patch. They were too close for the two of them to run away without getting seen, and time was running short before the rest of the raiders found them.

Sawyer balled up his fists, channeling the adrenaline to start throwing them. "Do you have a plan?"

She hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth as though mulling an idea over in her head. The change in demeanor made him leer suspiciously until she nodded, clearly coming to a decision."Yeah, I've got a something."

"Ok so, how do you want to do this?"

She suddenly grinned mischievously, almost wickedly as she said, "Just follow my lead."

Mary yanked out the bottom drawer from the toolbox and snatched up a rusted, chipped cleaver. She popped up over the fence and just _hurled_ it. It whipped through the air and savagely crunched through the pistol-waving raiders' clavicle. Sawyer's jaw dropped as the raider clutched at his neck with a wet gurgle, looking up at Mary in awe. "That. Was. _Amazing!_ I can't believe you just did that!"

She laughed into his face with mirrored disbelief. "Me neither! I've never even done that before!"

The remaining bewildered raider with the spiked bat turned on the two of them grinning stupidly at each other. He screamed and charged at them, swinging his bat above his head. "Eat this, you bitches!"

"Ooooh," Sawyer crooned with derisive intrigue as he vaulted over the fence, stretching out his back and rolling his neck out as he cracked his knuckles. "Allow me."

The raider yelled incoherently as he swung his nail-encrusted bat overhead. Sawyer swept his body to the left, letting the bat sink harmlessly into the dirt beside him, then swung his fist in a wide roundhouse punch that collided with the raider's nose with a wet, muted crunch. Blood spurted down the raider's mouth as he staggered, the bat dangling in his stunned grip. Sawyer stomped on his instep with more force than was probably necessary. He collapsed to the dirt with a whimper like a pile of damp clothes, and Sawyer dropped an elbow directly down on his throat that broke his windpipe with an audible crunch. The raider's eyes bulged and he clutched at his neck, writhing like a worm on hot pavement. Sawyer hesitated. Asphyxiation was brutal to watch and it took forever to claim a life. With quick deliberation, he stabbed his chisel through the raider's jugular with his chisel, which ended the sounds of choking in seconds.

He'd turned around just in time to find Mary wiggling and kicking through a crevice in the walls of the house. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Retreating to a defensive position!" She barked as she slipped completely through. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Well, I just took that one guy out."

She peeked back through the broken boards with a less-than-amused expression. "What, you want a sweet roll now? Come on, get inside!"

"Sheesh, what does it take to impress girls these days?" He grumbled as he awkwardly followed her through the gap in the wall. Inside the house was pitch black, all that he could make out were the sounds of short panting breaths and scuffling feet. He stumbled awkwardly, momentarily blind, hitting the edge of a desk or something with his hip. He reached his hands out in the dark as his eyes tried to adjust until his fingers touched much smaller ones that wrapped around his and guided him forward. "Mary?"

"Shhh!" Lucy pressed a finger to her lips, pulling him through what felt like a hallway towards the huddled figures of Blake and Connie, leaning behind the upturned dining table like a makeshift bulwark in front of scattered plates and broken glass. Shafts of dim orange light split the air above their heads, igniting the tiny specks of dust that fell from the ceiling. Connie was muttering something furiously to her husband. Blake crouched stock still with his gun resting over the lip of the table, his eyes threaded through the sights that were directed steadfast at the front entrance.

Seconds later, it was silent outside the house. No gunfire, no shouting, just the soft creaks of an old house. The rasps of the Abernathy's fearful breathing were all that he could hear.

"I guess Bloody Mary finally ran out of bullets." Lucy's said bitterly, repressing a hiccup. Her white-knuckle grip on his hand was trembling.

He gently patted her wrist, half out of reassurance and half out of concern for the lack of circulation to his fingers. "Don't be afraid. I won't let anything bad happen to you, or your family."

"You don't understand-" she began, but he cut her off.

"I promise it'll be ok. I just need you to be tough for your family. Take a big breath and release slowly." He felt rather than saw her nod, inhaling a calming breath through her nose and exhaling gradually as instructed. She relaxed, and he smiled warmly at her. "That's it. I'm right here with you. Everything's going to be-"

Maise hissed and yowled venom from a corner under the stairs. Slow heavy thunks of booted feet walked across the front deck, the shadow of an imposing figure drifting through the gaps in the wall. Sawyer's empty fist reflexively curled tight.

"They say there are no atheists in a foxhole," A voice like a necrotic bullfrog spoke as the jagged outline of a man slid through the doorway. His armor was made up of slabs of rusted metal barbarically lashed together over a broad chest, his head bare except for a stripe of hair down the middle that appeared spray-painted stark white. Smears of black grease paint dripped down his eyes like fingers. "I'm not a religious man, but I am here to follow up on a promise. You were given a chance to put your lives in the hands of something bigger than your nuclear family. All I asked for was an open mind."

Blake had been so still and silent it was almost chilling when he coolly replied. "I'll say this one last time. I will _never_ offer up my children to your gang. I pay my dues to keep my family safe, just as agreed, and no more."

"I admire your dedication to your family, Mr. Abernathy," The raider struck a match, igniting his palm in an orange glow that he slowly brought close to his pockmarked face. A wrinkled cigarette hung from his lips and the smoldering cherry shone in unblinking black eyes. "But you don't decide where to draw the line in the sand. And neither do I. Think of me as your representative, overseeing an agreement struck between a contractor and a contractee. And as of right now your contract has been altered."

Blake scoffed. "Contract? Is that what you're calling it?"

The imposing raider exposed rows of infected teeth rimmed by flaking cracked lips. "Enforced by yours truly."

"Who the fuck does this shit ticket think he is?" Sawyer muttered. Mortified, Lucy clapped a hand over his mouth, her wide eyes gleaming. Connie's face was apoplectic and looked she might strangle him. He sank into his shoulders and shot back an indignant look that said, What did I do?

"And who the hell that?" The raider growled, idly reaching for something bulky strapped to his thigh. "I don't recognize that voice."

Sawyer shrugged Lucy off and stood straight upwards, jerking his chin out. "'Sup, fuckface?"

The collective blood pressure in the room shot through the roof and exited the atmosphere. The raider had to be at least a six-foot-something brawler of a man with sun-weathered skin the color of dark urine, marked with pale waxy scars. Sawyer was ... well, he stood just a little bit below average height, if he was being honest with himself, and didn't really look like much. The raider looked annoyingly amused. "You got a name, kiddo?"

Sawyer instantly bristled, his eyes narrowed to resentful slits. "Well, it ain't fucking _that._ "

The raider chuckled. "I like to know the names of the people I kill, but I'm not opposed to making exceptions."

"Y'know, for someone that claims to not be religious, you outta be ready to go and meet your maker." Mary's cool voice emerged from the shadows (how the hell did she even get there?) directly to the left of the raider, underneath the obscured staircase. "I'm only too happy to send you to him. Tell 'em I said hi." She pointed the slightly dented end of a battered rifle that looked familiar-

"Mary, waitwaitwait—no!"

The trigger clicked. Nothing. The raider had barely flinched, blinking slowly instead while nothing happened. Mary squeezed the trigger a couple more times before staring incredulously at Sawyer. "It's ... broken!"

Sawyer winced, rubbing his neck. "Yeeeeeaaaaaaah."

She snarled and threw it at him. "Why the fuck did you give this up as collateral if it's garbage?"

He wanted to parse out the meaning behind the phrase 'speak softly but carry a big stick', even if that stick didn't really shoot bullets anymore, but instead what came out was a borderline shrill defense. "I needed you to trust me!"

She grabbed his shirt and yanked him close to roar in his face, " _Are you fucking kidding me?_ "

"ENOUGH!" Blake bellowed. He'd stood up from cover and the two of them all but cowered under his somber glare. "For once, Mary, do as you're damn told and don't complicate things," To the raider, he said, "Take your caps and leave my family out of any further negotiations. Final warning."

The raider shook his head heavily with a tsk, sauntering closer as if he didn't care that Blake was aiming a gun at point blank range at him. "Too much blood's been spilled to go back to the way things were. I'll be leaving with my pound of flesh today, one way or another."

Sawyer instinctively stepped forward wearing an intimidating glare at the admittedly much larger man. For a moment the raider indulged in glaring back, squaring off almost dismissively before smirking. "I like your gumption, kiddo, but I know you won't tango with me if you wanna puppy guard your folks at the same time."

The raider was infuriatingly correct, not that Sawyer was willing to admit it. Instead, he sneered back, "It's Murphy. _Sawyer. Murphy_."

Something flashed behind the raider's eyes. Hesitation? Recognition? Sawyer was certain he'd never met this man in his life. It triggered the feeling of unease again, but before he could wrack his brain for answers the raider grinned again with those awful teeth. "Well met, Sawyer. Y'know, you got spark, kiddo. I think we could have been friendly in another life. It's funny the way things turn out, aren't they?"

Sawyer refused to reply, even if he could come up with anything to say to that. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled unnervingly, almost like there was someone staring at him from just out of sight. He refused to let his glare stray despite the goosebumps rising on his skin.

"We'll be taking double the usual cut this time." The raider eventually said, turning to leave out the front door. "Can't say what'll happen once the boss gets wind of this. Enjoy the rest of your night, Abernathys."

He paused at the doorway, framed by the dying blaze of the reddish sun as he looked over his shoulder. "The name's Gristle. I'll be seeing you again, Sawyer." His long shadow trailed through the cracks in the wall behind him, thunking footsteps moving toward a lockbox that was situated beside the workbench. Everyone inside the house remained frozen in place, listening to the sack of caps clinking together as it was thrown on presumably Gristle's back as he callout out orders to the remaining raiders. There was silence in the growing darkness until Blake finally lowered his rifle and let out a breath he must have been holding in.

Before anyone could speak, Sawyer jumped at the sharp clap from beside him that caused his ears to ring. Connie's face was a contorted in rage, while Mary was staggered and pressing a hand to her right cheek, which burned a bright red. Her eyes were wide and lips parted, but too stunned to speak.

"What. Have. You. DONE?" Connie roared. "Are you proud of yourself? You feel like a hero now, pissing off those monsters and leaving us defenseless? Or did you suddenly learn how to shit bullets?"

Sawyer was too shocked to speak. Mary cradled her face as tears converged on her eyelashes, struggling to remain stoic under her mother's ferocity. "Mom, I just thought-"

"Why didn't you go on after him if you like killing so much? Is that what you want for your sister? _What were you thinking?_ "

"That's enough, Connie." Blake set a hand on his wife's shoulder, which she promptly shook off and stormed away to the back of the house. Blake's shoulders heaved and then slacked slowly. He turned back around and motioned to Sawyer with a sharp jerk of his chin to follow. "Outside."

Sawyer gulped, casting one last glimpse at Mary before following in haste. Her jaw was clenched tight, her expression dejected and stormy as she stomped up the stairs to the roof. He wanted to follow her, though he had no idea what to say. Lucy crept up the stairs behind her sister, and he errantly remembered what she'd called her. Bloody Mary...

Blake was waiting for him beside the house, lighting a smoke on his lips and snapping the lighter shut as he pocketed it in a fluid motion. Sawyer could see that the laughter lines sagged in a darkened, aged grimace. He looked so tired. Then Sawyer realized Blake was gazing out at Mary's earlier handiwork.

The cleaver was still stuck in the raider's neck. Without the adrenaline pumping through his system, Sawyer couldn't dispell the shiver of revulsion. Without so much as a backward glance, Blake hooked fingers on the kerosene lamp perched on a stack of tires and said, "Help me move the bodies away."

It was harder than it looked. Sawyer knew it would be before he picked up the legs of the raider he'd killed, following Blake past the decimated melon patch to the foot of the crags. The dead just ... weigh more. They were hard to grip, especially when the rigidity hasn't yet settled in. The days in which Sawyer would wax philosophical over the corpses of friends and foes he'd had to bury were long behind him. It was the way of the universe, you deal with death and move on. Blake said nothing as well, and that suited him just fine. Still, Sawyer noted they both avoided looking at the raiders final, permanently stricken faces.

Mary had shot two more raiders on her own, which Blake helped him drag to the edge of the property. They dumped the bodies in a row at the base of the rocky outcropping, where the length of power lines connecting the farmhouse with the northern pylon planted on top of the weathered hill. A large pile of chopped shoe-sized stones and row of farming equipment rested against the rocks. Rusted shovels, hoes, and rakes lay against the hill, which Blake ignored after they dropped the last body. Sawyer slumped down on his haunches to rest as he waited for further direction. The older man leaned on his iron-pronged rake, hunching his shoulders over something in his fingers, mumbling quietly to himself. After a moment Sawyer realized he was praying.

The older man touched his fingertips to his head, heart, and shoulders. Then he began to scrape away the pebbles, grass and roots away. Taking his cue and grabbing one of the shovels, Sawyer dug. And dug. And dug, much more than he ever thought he would have for raider corpses. He tried to banish his feelings of resentment, despite growing sweaty, thirsty, and tired with each pile of dirt tossed. It was one thing to drag away the dead to prevent hungry critters from getting to close to camp, and another to pray for killers. There were people out in the world who deserved a proper burial that would never get one, people he'd known in his travels and during his time on the west coast. Not selfish, violent, scum-of-the-earth raiders. They'd lost any scrap of soul they'd had left to lay to rest long before they finally bit the dust.

But it wasn't up to him. Sawyer was living on the good graces of the Abernathys, which meant he couldn't afford to get kicked out just yet. He remembered his debt to their kindness, rare as fresh water out in the wasteland. He couldn't decide if he admired Blake or if he felt reproachful.

"I ain't angry with you, if you're wondering," Blake said, breaking the silence at long last. Sawyer leaned against his shovel, turning his full attention to the older man, waiting for direction. Blake puffed a large cloud of smoke before throwing his smoke away, shaking his head. "You hardly know us and you stuck your neck out regardless. Thank you. Never meant to drag you into our conflicts. Now ... I don't know where my short-sighted daughter's recklessness will take us."

Sawyer paused, thinking about where to begin to deconstruct what Blake had said. He decided to strike as close to home as he could risk it. Go hard or go home, like his Gran used to say. "You've been dealing with them for a while, from the looks of it. Other nearby settlements are probably feeling the pressure too. These raiders aren't going to stop pushing their boundaries without a fight."

Blake's lip curled. "The last time they tried I put my foot down. I told Gristle if they took my girls they'd lose out on my ... generosity. I'd raze my own farm just to get even, to get them back. Or ... avenge their deaths. Hmph, bastard seemed to think it was funny. But so far they never pressed their luck. But today ..." Blake stabbed the earth with his shovel, leaning against it as he wheezed in anger and exertion. "Mary crossed a line I can't pull her back from."

"Those raiders crossed the line," Sawyer spoke up firmly. "Sooner or later they would have taken what they wanted. Gristle slipped up and showed his hand. Or rather, his employer's hand, whoever the hell that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, all that noise about a higher power, double the cut, blah blah blah? Sounds like they were just getting to know you. Seeing what buttons you have that they can later push. If you get in the way of something they decide they really want, they won't hesitate to cut out the middle man and take over your farm. I've seen it done back home. Someone's got an agenda, and Gristle is just a face to put on an ultimatum."

Blake scrutinized him again, this time with the gentle knowing look of a seasoned parent."Back home?"

Sawyer frowned as a tightness in his throat formed. He'd prefer not to elaborate. He'd prefer to leave it all in the past. "Huh. Well, it used to be home. Before our own brand of raiders broke up our settlements." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, extortion isn't really a raider M-O, amirite? And that guy, Gristle?" He shook his head emphatically. "He talked like he didn't just know what he was doing, but like he was really good at it and enjoys it. And honestly, I've never come across a raider with a vocabulary that fancy. He's either an amateur orator or he's being fed lines by someone else."

Blake nodded. "Yeah, I don't trust 'sophistication' coming from a man that looks like he dipped himself in glue and went cartwheeling through a junkyard. You thinkin' he's representing something else? Gunners?"

Sawyer shook his head. "I don't know for sure, but I have a really weird feeling about that guy. It's not all that far-fetched that what they really want is to take everything you have, not just your caps or food. I think they're biding their time, watching and seeing how you and your family would prove most valuable." He shrugged to punctuate his thought, wrenching his shovel out of the dirt. "The world is a twisted place."

Perhaps an hour or so later Blake dismissed him, saying he'd finish the rest by himself, that he needed to think. Sawyer stretched out his back with audible pops and bid the farmer a goodnight, lumbering towards the little camper trailer. The air was cool and the night sky cloudless, making his skin sticky and cold with drying sweat and dirt. He wondered if he'd get another bucket of water to clean up, then remembered the water pump was still disassembled on the ground. He groaned inwardly, deciding to get up at first light to resume his project, when he found Mary sitting patiently on the steps of the trailer.

She had a lit cigarette in one hand and was thumbing a smooth oval pendant that hung on a silver chain around her neck with the other, staring out at the expanse of stars. He paused at the edge of the camper, dreading the lambasting he probably deserved for the trick he'd pulled with the broken rifle. But she graced him with a small wistful smile instead. "When me and Lucy were kids we used to have this big old tomcat. He was mean and ugly, and he hated it when you tried to pick him up. But he kept the rats off the crops so dad said he could stay. He liked me the best 'cause I'd give him bits of mirelurk jerky when no one was around. Lucy didn't know and would just lose it when we'd wake up and he'd be snoozing on my legs. I think she named him Mr. Tato Blossom."

She took a drag of her smoke with a little smirk, tilting her chin up as she exhaled through her nose. "Anyway, he died eventually and we both cried about it a lot. We went out over there to dig a grave for him." She waved the hand holding her cigarette over to the area where the raiders were buried. "Luce was afraid he wouldn't go to heaven so she made a little cross to stick over his grave. We said a little prayer and promised to visit. A week later we came back, and Mr. Tato Blossom's chewed up head was lying on the ground a few feet away. The hole was too shallow and wild dogs came sniffing around for an easy meal. Gave me nightmares, but Lucy was really messed up by it. Wouldn't talk for days."

The visual of dogs gnawing on an exhumed carcass made Sawyer's stomach twist. The pile of irregularly sized rocks were probably there to prevent that from happening, functioning like a cairn or something. Mary dropped her gaze to her hands, flicking ash absently. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all that."

Sawyer gently smiled. "S'okay. I'm a good listener."

She smiled back, just for him, and that made him feel like he won the lottery. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't sleep out here by yourself, it's not safe. The dogs know better than to get too close to the farm, but they might come out here. There's a sleeping bag on the roof if you want it."

A distant howl helped reinforced her point. Still, Sawyer felt reluctantly obligated to ask, "Won't your parents be upset if I just move my stuff in?"

"I don't think they can be any angrier with me." She said bitterly.

"They're just scared. At least, your dad is. Otherwise I think he'd make you dig a bunch of graves with him instead of me."

For a moment she look down at her knees in shame, then the spitfire within took over. "We all scared! I'm sick of being helpless, but my parents are just fine being compliant to these glorified playground bullies." She stood abruptly and started to pace. "Ever since the Minutemen were wiped out, new gangs have been pushing all the boundaries they can. When so many people are letting them all get away with simple harassment, it all snowballs from there. And my parents are falling for it. All it takes is for a few settlements to bow to raiders demands, then it's all downhill from there. They think it's better to just let them walk all over us instead of actually doing something about it, once and for all. "

He folded his arms and leveled his gaze with hers, chin up and scrutinizing. Not patronizing, or even challenging. Just regarding her seriously. "What do you wanna do about it?"

Mary didn't falter for a second. "Fucking rally up. Get back in touch with other nearby settlements. The Minutemen helped us trade tato cuttings for one of Tenpines calves. That's how they got their farm started, and we got Clarabelle. I say we rope in the caravan merchants too. They're always armed and run regular circuits all the time. They want to keep the routes that make them caps, then they outta pitch in to keep their customers safe."

There were a number of things he could have said to explain why that plan didn't quite hold an entire gallon of water (yet), but part of being a good listener was knowing when to shut the fuck up.

"The Commonwealth needs to come together again, the way it did for the CPG. They had a shot at uniting everyone for people like my parents, and for me and Lucy, but everyone is so fucking scared after what happened no one has stepped up since. It's been over fifty years, for crying out loud! I just-" She angrily sucked the last drag from her smoke and threw it on the ground. "I feel like the Commonwealth needs something to believe in again. I want to be a part that, like the Minutemen used to be, before ... before."

"You sound really passionate about this." Sawyer said quietly. "And you're right, the world needs more good people that think like that. Beyond the small scale, for the good of everyone. Maybe the Commonwealth needs someone like you to show them the way."

She held his gaze, perhaps searching for evidence of empty flattery until she actually blushed before retorting. "Is that so? Then how would you like to join the all new Commonwealth Provisional Government Reclamation Team? Together we'll take back our future!"

He chuckled. "Well, the name could use some brainstorming, but I'm game. Where do I sign up?"

"You just did." She tucked her hair behind her ear, then pointedly looked away with the smallest quirk to the corner of her mouth that brought out a tiny dimple. _There it is,_ Sawyer thought dreamily as his heart cheerily swan-dove into the pit of his stomach. _I think I'm in love._

"Lucy told me what you said to her, about keeping her safe," She added, interrupted his thoughts. "Thank you. It should have been me there telling her that, but it was you and that means a lot to me." She winked at him. "Makes me glad I didn't shoot you on sight."

"Me too," Sawyer chuckled, pleased that her mood had lifted. A thought occurred to him that made him frown. "Why didn't you though? Like, I'm not complaining, at all! It's just that, with all the trouble with these raiders, what kept you from shooting me full of holes? Some stranger you'd never met?"

"Hmm," She rolled her weight to one hip and stroked an invisible beard in mock deep thought. "I don't know. There was just something about you that seemed so ..."

"Ruggedly charming?"

"... Unthreatening. Like a lost radstag calf."

"Wow. I know you're, like, this sheltered farm girl and all, but that's an awfully depressing thing to say to a man."

She laughed good-naturedly and spun around to lead him into the farmhouse, but not before flashing him a devious grin. "I'll find a way to make it up to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I don't intend to give up on this story at all. Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"Didn't think you'd come through with that favor." Sawyer murmured with half-lidded eyes, his head rolled over the back of the chair. The warm air was humid, the unrelenting sun backlighting his eyelids scarlet.

He saw Mary's smirk out of the corner of his eye. He avoided looking at directly at her, at her faded Unstoppables t-shirt, at her long bare legs below her cut-off shorts. And if he looked too long into her sharp hazel eyes he just knew he'd end up getting lost in them, so he watched the cotton candy clouds drift lazily across an impeccably blue sky instead.

"Did you think I'd forget?" She dragged the slim razor over his exposed throat.

"Sort of. I wasn't expecting anything, really." He replied. "This is nice."

Sunlight fragmented over the surface of the water held in the basin, perched on a stool next to his arm. Her fingers were cool, soothing deft strokes against his hot skin. Trails of water drops slipped down his neck, below his collar. He could imagine it was her touch, which sent a little embarrassing thrill up his spine. Yet despite the mild awkwardness, there was nowhere else he'd rather be. When her thumb gently pushed his chin to the side, he caught sight of that dimple on her cheek again.

He resisted the urge to fidget, letting his eyes drift back shut instead. She smelled like the sap from cracked cedar, gun grease and solvents, and lingering campfire smoke. The odd fist-sized root she'd brushed in the basin of water to create a thin lather had an astringent quality to it that felt pleasantly cleansing. He'd kept bear onion and yucca root fibers in his pack ever since his stint through New Vegas, though he'd restricted their usage for utilitarian purposes only, since soap in any form was a sparse commodity. Something so frivolous like a full clean shave treatment somewhat scandalized him, though he ultimately conceded while trying to hide his bashfulness about the whole thing.

The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable, however. Mary's feather touch on his skin lulled him into a gentle trance. The looming dread of his responsibilities vanished like fog in the sunshine. Basking just outside the farmhouse, blissfully unaware of anything else but Mary's presence was borderline intoxicating, pooling an urge for complacency that he could soak in. Her hand grazed his ear, her breath the softest caress against his skin. What if he could stay? Just for a little while longer.

"You were dreaming again last night."

Sawyer frowned. "Hm, sorry. Was it bad?"

Mary shook her head, dunking the foam off the slim blade into the basin and wiping it off on a towel. "No. I didn't have to wake you this time."

The bulbous cloud that had traveled a straight line across his vision shaped itself into a kind of long-necked teapot. He vaguely recalled the violent music of delicate ceramic shattering against the wall, over his Gran wailing his mother's name at the top of her raspy lungs with the mush-mouthed accent of someone on a Med-ex bender. Gran's shrill voice had gradually morphed into Mary's low and steady tenor, a soft voice that quietly soothed him back to something closer to a silent, dreamless sleep. He'd woken up with a headache and her fingers intertwined with his.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The teapot collided with what could have been a mirelurk queen if he squinted and used his imagination. Shifting in his chair, he tried to find something else in the distance to focus on. Fuck it. "Do you have any idea how terrifying old people can be?"

She blinked and her mouth opened in surprise, but her hands remained steady, thankfully removing the straight razor away from his cheek, waiting for him to continue.

"I had this friend when I was a kid in Quincy. One time I brought him over to play, because I knew my Gran would be passed out until dinner. " He flexed his jaw while his brain collected all the pieces together. "I remember her coming out from her room, and she was wearing the same clothes she'd had on for a couple weeks. I thought she was just hung over; her eyes were glazed and bloodshot like she wasn't really awake yet, so I asked her if she wanted some water. She didn't speak for a couple of minutes, like she didn't even know I was there. But she looked right at him," Sawyer's fists curled over the edge of the armrests, taking a shuddering breath. "And she said, _'Kid, I know what you put in your mama's drink when she was growin' your baby brother. Let that envy go, or you're gonna be a monster'_."

A breath of wind sailed over his shoulders, chilling the streaks of water remaining on his skin which made him shiver and itch. "She was always saying and doing crazy stuff, so I personally didn't think anything of it. But my friend booked it out of there like my Gran was a Deathclaw in a scarf and bunny slippers."

"This sounds like you thought _she_ was a monster."

He opened his mouth for a second, then shook his head. "Sort of, a little bit. Why?"

"Because from what you've told me, it sounds like she wasn't really there for you," Mary said tonelessly, making small scrapes underneath his jawline. As content as he had been just a moment before, he suddenly longed for the comforting weight of a flask in his breast pocket. "And when she was around, nothing made sense. Remember when you told me you felt like you were always being watched when you were at home? Is that because you were afraid of what she might do to you if you did something wrong?"

"I don't know," Sawyer admitted, suddenly feeling foolish for bringing the whole thing up. "It was kind of a dream of a memory. Things were a little different. It felt like there was someone else there, someone different standing just out of sight. Do you know what I mean? How you just know there's someone behind you, until you look and there's nothing there. Like ... like if you're playing hide and seek, and there's that last person you just can't find, but you can still kind of hear them breathe and making the floors creak?"

Mary wiped the foam off of the blade on a towel. "Like a boogeyman?"

Sawyer scoffed. "Yeah. Probably. There was also this huge mural on the wall of a mirelurk wearing a curly blonde wig and a pink tutu. Pretty sure that has never existed, ever. What do you think it means?"

"Hmm," She frowned, quirking her mouth to the side as she cleaned the razor again. "Maybe you should stop eating the brahmin cheese right before going to bed."

"Thanks, doc. I'll keep that in mind."

She tilted her head back and around, scanning his face in satisfaction. "Almost done."

"Oh, okay." He tried not to let the disappointment show. Mary wiped away the remnants of foam from his face with the damp, sun-drenched towel. His skin felt almost numb, lighter and cleaner than it had in months. He stroked the bare skin around his mouth and jaw, feeling as though he'd shed a layer of himself he didn't know was bothering him. Mary prodded politely. "How is it?"

"Different, like I feel a little more like a human being again."

Mary hummed and scooped his chin, pivoting his face to inspect for any missed spots, showing off the dimple in her cheek in a satisfaction. In a brief moment of clarity he realized she'd been a little nervous too. It was too much to resist poking with a stick. "So, do you like what you see?"

She actually blushed and let go cheekily, but held his gaze. "Yes, I do. Is there something on your mind, Sawyer?"

He grinned. "Just curious."

"Oh?" Her mouth broke into a seductive smile, somehow making him feel exposed. She leaned in close until her lips nearly touched his ear, speaking so softly. "Then why are you breathing so fast?"

A thrill raced up his chest, and his whole body was angled to just push up and touch her. It was a bad idea, really bad. But his willpower crumbled when she pulled back and her eyes flickered down to his lips and then back to his eyes with a reflective longing, and then he was leaning up from the chair before he could stop himself.

" _Mary,_ " Connie's low stern voice caused them both to jackrabbit up, nearly sending Sawyer tumbling over backward in his chair. He cleared his throat loudly so no one would notice his embarrassment.

Mary stoically endured her mother's frigid gaze almost a little too calmly. Connie's lip curled, the reproach plaintively obvious. "Go help your dad with the inventory."

She nodded curtly, casually dumping out the bowl of sun-warmed water and pretending not to notice the bits of foam that splattered on Connie's boots. The look her mother gave her as she plucked the duffle bag of shaving supplies and strode past could have flash frozen a waterfall.

Once her daughter was out of earshot, Connie turned that frigid gaze to Sawyer. He stood, ignoring how hot his face felt and his clammy hands dangling limply at his sides. It'd probably be certain doom to break eye contact from the mama bear now.

Connie's arms were folded against her ribs, her weight on her back leg, like she expected him to run and was prepared to chase after him. "Sawyer, I appreciate you lending my family your time and labor but it's time to revisit your intentions here."

He was expecting this. He deserved less. He hated himself for letting it get this far. "Blake has assured me a place to stay until the next caravan arrives, hopefully with news from Quincy."

"And if there's no news from Quincy? Or bad news?"

"I'll be on my way. There are important loose ends I need to take care of." Sawyer said tersely. "I've taken enough of your hospitality, and the last thing I want is to overstay my welcome."

"I'd like for that to be the case."

"I promise it will be."

Connie nodded, but still looked unsatisfied. He waited for the other shoe to drop, idly thinking he'd rather go toe to toe with Gristle again than Mrs. Abernathy in a foul mood. At least with a raider he had the option to swing back.

"You'll have to forgive my insensitivity to your situation, but my family is my whole world and I won't stand for strangers filling my girl's head with heroic ideas of running away. I know my daughter. She'll sweet talk you into taking her with you on your adventures until something better comes along, and then you'll be the thing she's trying to get away from. I'm drawing a line in the sand right now before that happens."

A knot formed in his stomach but he held his chin up. He didn't even realize that the option was even on the table. If he could take Mary with him... he bit his tongue. However...

"With all due respect, Mrs. Abernathy, but I didn't fight my way across thousands of miles of murderers and mutated wildlife, along with the soul-crushing emptiness that comes with it, searching for the woman that raised me – who could be dead, for all I know – to have you call the blood and ghosts I've left behind an _adventure._ " He took a step forward, palms open on either side of him to soften the tight line of tension in his shoulders. "Mary is a grown adult and makes her own decisions. If it's time for her to leave the nest, that's her prerogative. I can't afford a liability when I've come so far and I'm so close. If you wake up one day and can't find her, I promise you it won't be because of me."

Connie's expression morphed into one of cold threat, if not outright disgust, bridging the last couple steps between them to bare gritted teeth into his face. "Then do her a favor and _don't string her along._ I want better for my kids than whatever you're up to. Have I made myself clear?"

His left pinky twitched in a desperate attempt to keep his hands idle. " Yes, ma'am. Understood."

"Good." She strode off without further delay as if their conversation was another simple chore to cross off. Sawyer exhaled the breath he'd been holding, feeling sorry for whatever task was next on Connie's to-do list.

Just as she turned the corner, something moved out of the corner of his eye. Squinting, he looked out on the craggy gray hills. His skin prickled as though a cold breeze had struck him. There, under the shade of the blackened desiccated copse of trees, came the unique sensation of being watched engulfing him. The longer he stared, the more he felt like that dingy grayish shadow of a man standing just behind the tree was staring right back at him. He blinked from the strain. The figure began to creep through the trees, away from the farm.

His heart skipped into overdrive, but he was unable to move. Raiders? Dread coalesced like heavy ice in his chest. They weren't ready for a fight, not by a mile. Sawyer had hoped the merchant caravan Blake had promised would provide a windfall before a confrontation. Not that he personally had anything of value to barter with, but the small army any merchant worth his salt usually employs would be enough to deter an assault. A couple of well-trained mercs could easily outgun a dozen strung-out, poorly regulated raiders.

He stalked out towards the trees, searching the crevices and irregular rock formations for … something. An inconspicuously prevailing shadow that'd been following him for miles. A manifestation of his neurosis, perhaps, fueling his obsession with coming home. Home? No, not yet. He hadn't planned that far. He didn't have a home yet to arrive at.

A snap of dry wood to the right. Sawyer whipped his head to the sound, following at a careful pace over logs and debris. A man in faded gray clothes, the brim of a hat hiding his face, there and gone behind the trunk of blanched cedar. When Sawyer blinked there were spots of shadow that remained on his retinas that were slow to disappear.

Words formed in his throat that never made it out of his mouth. His heart thudded in his ears with every step, his breathing becoming a mantra. He could almost hear his old friend's ghosts calling to him. _Where're you goin', bud?_

_I know what I saw,_ he told himself, rounding the tree where the figure had disappeared behind, finding nothing but twigs. "He was just here..."

"Who was?"

Sawyer shrieked, jumping nearly a foot in the air and windmilling his arms. Lucy frowned at him from just a few feet away, looking him up and down, thoroughly unimpressed. He snarled despairingly, "What is _with_ you ladies and sneaking up on people?"

She had the grace to look indignant. "I wasn't sneaking."

"I'm seriously considering putting a bell on you, just to make sure."

"I'd like to see you try." She sneered, crossing her armed in a huff. She wore a set of baggy overalls over her flannel, likely another hand-me-down from her older sister. "Besides, where I'm standing it looks a lot like you're the one who's sneaking around. What were you even looking for?"

Sawyer threw a peeved glance behind him. Through the trees he could make out a steel warehouse nearly a half mile down an incline. One side was crammed with shipping trucks in a fenced off parking lot, just past a dry creek bed. "Nothing, I guess."

A rude snort made him look back in time to catch Lucy rolling her eyes. "I know well-meaning bullshit when I hear it. You're worried about the ferals, aren't you?"

Sawyer blinked slowly. "Ferals?"

She pointed to the distant warehouse. "That's what you were looking at, right? That place is radioactive, it draws them all in. They're far enough away to not bother us, but once in a while one will wander over for some crazy reason. It's never really been a problem, though."

Was that what he saw? A decayed frontiersman, lurking in the trees? Doubt sunk in the back of his mind like a splinter. If a feral ghoul was floating through the trees, then where had it gone?

"What's wrong?" Lucy inspected him from the side.

He knew what he saw. "Has anyone gone over there?"

She shrugged. "Daddy says it's not worth the ammo it'd take to clear the place out, since more ferals will eventually move in. A few months ago we heard some shots fired coming from that direction, but it was over pretty quick. I'd rather not think too much about what might have happened."

A lightbulb turned on above Sawyer's head. "You don't say..."

"Anyway..." She dragged out the last syllable as she fished out his rolled up scarecrow hat out of a deep pocket that hung next to her knee. She presented it to him by slapping the shape back into it. A soft brown leather cord that wasn't there before now dangled underneath, joined at the center by a simple adjustable knot. The cap-sized tear on the brim was patched over with a small square of faded red flannel. "I finished it. See?"

He beamed as he accepted it, feeling a surge of the warm and fuzzies. "Thank you."

She punched his shoulder. "Aw, don't mention it. But if you wanted to get me something for my birthday, that would also be pretty neat."

He nodded, gesturing for her to follow him back to the farmhouse. "Nice, very subtle. When's your birthday?"

She giggled, planting fists on her hips proudly. "I'll be eighteen next month! Daddy said he'll take me to Diamond City, but with all the crap from the raiders lately I kind of doubt it'll actually happen."

"A lot can happen in a month. Who knows, maybe you'll still get to see the bright lights and you can buy your first swatter."

"Have you ever been?"

"Nah, I grew up in Quincy. Back then the trade was good enough that we didn't ever really need to go that far into Boston. That, and my Gran wasn't in the best shape to go traveling."

"Hmm, sounds like you were kind of sheltered too."

He recoiled, but before he could pick that statement apart Lucy was already making a beeline to the snoozing cat on the back porch. Sneaky _and_ perceptive, he'd have to remember that of ladies of the Abernathy house.

"I'll make sure to bring you a souvenir then, straight from the ol' Great Green Goblin." She called over her shoulder. "You like noodles?"

He shrugged. "If I'm still here, sure. I'd love some."

She blew the bangs from her eyes with a smug expression. "Even if you aren't, you'll wind up back here at some point. Or maybe you won't, and then my sister'll get mopey and decide to go hunting for you."

He must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt because she tossed her head back and cackled. "Oh, cute! You thought you were being all coy. Just a couple' a crazy kids in love, up to no good." She shook her head and wagged a stern finger at him. "Just bring her back before ten, not a minute later. _And keep your hands to yourself if you know what's good for ya!_ "

"You know what? I hope you get socks for your birthday." He turned on his heel and stormed away, suddenly glad he never grew up with siblings.


End file.
